


A Boy's Best Friend Is His Mother

by Tifer14



Category: Criminal Minds, Psycho (1960)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tifer14/pseuds/Tifer14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SSA Aaron Hotchner ends up at Reid's Motel just outside Fairvale where he meets the delightful Spencer Reid who may have a few more mommy issues than Hotch first realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Boy's Best Friend Is His Mother

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I was procrastinating working on my thesis by re-watching Hitchcock movies and then this happened. It's a little odd but I love Psycho and I, obviously, love Criminal Minds. A lot of the dialogue is taken directly from the Psycho screenplay, which is available on IMDB.
> 
> I don't own Criminal Minds. I don't own Psycho. I do own Psycho on video... but I don't own a VCR...

Aaron Hotchner was exhausted. This case seemed never ending, like all the others that gnawed at his bones and left him aching. He’d driven all the way out to a possible witness’ house in Fairvale just to find out that they were an attention seeking son of a bitch with no real information at all. He was cold. He was tired. He was hungry. And now he was lost. Staring out into the pouring rain, he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. He flicked open his mobile phone again to see that he still had no signal. Just fucking great. He was in the middle of nowhere and he couldn’t even phone Garcia for directions. He must have somehow turned off the highway without noticing it. Shit, he was tired. He should turn around.

Just as that thought flashed through his mind, he saw a neon sign glowing ahead: REIDS MOTEL. Fine. It would do. He’d get a few hours sleep, use their phone and get back on the road at dawn. The team would’ve gone back to the hotel. Hopefully, this place wouldn’t be too awful. He pulled up outside the office and ran up to the glass door. It was locked and there was no light on inside. For fuck’s sake. He peered around the side and saw a light on in the big house behind the motel. There was no fucking way he was running there in this rain. Returning to his car he slammed his fist down on the horn and held it there. Finally, he saw the front door open and an umbrella-ed shape ran down towards him. Hotch stepped out of his car just as a tall young man with long hair and a sweater vest appeared from underneath the umbrella. God, he was beautiful, Hotch thought to himself and then rubbed a hand over his face. He really was too tired.

“Dirty night” the young man commented with a hesitant smile and then he bit his lower lip as he turned to unlock the office.

“You have a vacancy?” Hotch grumbled impatiently. Clearly, this place had a vacancy.

“We have twelve vacancies. Twelve cabins, twelve vacancies... They moved away the highway,” the young man answered nervously but cheerfully.

“I thought I'd gotten off the main...” Hotch mumbled under his breath and was surprised when the young man continued.

“I knew you must have. No one stops here anymore unless they do.” He was standing behind the counter and he pushed the register towards Hotch, hesitantly. “But it's no good dwelling on our losses, is it. We go right ahead lighting signs and following the formalities... Would you sign, please?” Hotch eyed the book suspiciously but filled in his details anyway. “Your home address. Oh, just the town will do,” the young man continued and Hotch couldn’t keep his eyes off the way he kept brushing his damp hair out off his face with those long, elegant fingers. Beautiful. The young man must have caught him staring because his smile faltered for a moment and he once again caught his lower lip between his teeth. “Cabin One. It's closer in case you want anything... right next to the office.”

Hotch reached for the key but the young man didn’t seem to notice. He cleared his throat and fought back his mild annoyance, “I want sleep more than anything. Except maybe, food.”

“There's a big diner about ten miles on up... just outside Fairvale.”

“Am I that close to Fairvale?” Shit, had he driven in a circle or something?

“Fifteen point three miles. I'll get your bags.” The young man opened the door and peered out. The rain has slowed down considerably. He smiled broadly once again and Hotch couldn’t help but wonder if those lips were as soft as they looked.

“You don’t need to get my bag. I can manage.” He’s almost amused. He must have at least 50 pounds on the boy but he doesn’t really argue. As the young man reaches for his go-bag in the boot and then opens the door to the cabin. It’s quaint.

The young man opened a window, “Stuffy in here,” he apologised. “Well... the mattress is soft and there're hangers in the closet and... stationary with "Reid’s Motel" printed on it in case you want to make your friends back home envious... and... the... over there....” He gestured towards the bathroom and blushed.

“The bathroom” Hotch provided with a raised eyebrow.

“I'll be in the office if you want anything... just tap on the wall.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reid,” Hotch nodded. Really, he just has to know his name and he isn’t disappointed.

“Spencer Reid.” He turned to leave but paused at the door and gazed at Hotch who shifted uncomfortably, his trousers feeling just a little bit tighter under than innocent gaze.

“You have something most people never have.”

“Really?” Hotch again raised an eyebrow. This is getting weird but at least Spencer is still in his room. He might have some good dreams tonight.

“There's no name for it... But it's something that, that puts a person at ease.”

Hotch cleared his throat, “Thank you. Again.” He’s tired. He needs to phone his team. As attractive as Spencer Reid is, he needs to leave.

“You're not going to go out again and drive up to that diner, are you?”

“No.”

Suddenly Spencer’s speaking very fast: “Then will you do me a favour? Will you have supper here? I was just about to, myself... nothing more than some sandwiches and a lot of milk, but I'd like it if you'd come up to the house and... I don't set a fancy table but... the kitchen's awful homey.”

Milk? Hotch thinks to himself. You have got to be kidding me. Still, there was something attractive in the offer and before he’d thought it through, he found himself answering: “I'd like to.”

Spencer seemed shocked but then he smiled and Hotch couldn’t help but return the grin. “All right, you get settled and... change those wet shoes, and I'll come for you soon as it's ready...with my trusty umbrella.” He laughed and darted out leaving Hotch slightly bewildered.

Hotch closed the door and loosened his tie, after a pause, he removed it completely along with his damp suit jacket. You didn’t need to be formally dressed for sandwiches and milk of all things. He picked up the phone in the room only to find a distinct lack of dial tone. The storm must have taken out the phone lines. Well, that’s just fucking great. Suddenly the quiet is shattered by the shrill, ugly sound of a woman's voice, raised in anger. Instinctively, Hotch went for his sidearm and retreated to a defendable corner.

“No! I tell you no!” the woman screeched. He moved slowly to the window, realising that the voice was coming from the Reid home. “I won't have you bringing strange men in for supper... by candlelight, I suppose, in the cheap erotic fashion of young men with cheap, erotic minds!” Oh shit, Hotch thinks. That’s the mother of an unsub in the making.

Spencer’s voice sounds small but carries clearly, “Mother, please...”

“And then what? After supper, music? Whispers?” Hotch can’t help but chuckle. He’d love to fuck that young man into the mattress but that definitely wouldn’t help the situation. Suddenly, he felt very sorry for Spencer Reid. So young and so, apparently, trapped.

“Mother, he's just a stranger... hungry, and the weather's bad”

Mrs. Reid’s voice raised again, mocking her son: “Mother, he's just a stranger! As if men don't desire strangers, as if... oh, I refuse to speak of disgusting things because they disgust me! You understand, Boy? Go on, go tell him he'll not be appeasing his ugly appetite with my food... or my son! Or do I have to tell him, cause you don't have the guts? Huh, boy? You have the guts, boy?”

Spencer finally shouted back: “Shut up! Shut up!” Hotch heard a door slam and backed away from the window, holstering his gun. Jesus. What the fuck had he got himself into now? All he wanted was a few hours sleep. Hotch stepped out onto the porch, breathing deeply in the cool night air. Everything always seemed clean after the rain, purified. He caught a glimpse of Spencer walking towards the cabins with a napkin-covered tray. Hotch tried to look nonchalant but Spencer still stopped and stared with painful embarrassment at the knowing look in his eye.

Hotch cleared his throat again. God, it’s those big hazel eyes. A man could get lost in those eyes. Everything he knows he should do, like get in his car and get the fuck out of here, fly out the window when he looks into those eyes. “I've caused you some trouble.”

“Mother...” Spencer laughs hollowly, “what is the phrase...’she isn't herself today’... I think that's it.”

“You shouldn't have bothered. I really don't have that much of an appetite.”

Spencer looked slightly downcast, “I'm sorry. I wish... people could apologize for other people.”

Hotch attempted another smile, something he hasn’t done in a long time but it seemed to be becoming a habit in Spencer’s company, “Don't worry about it. But as long as you've made us supper, we may as well eat it. Huh?” He turned to back into his room and Spencer started to follow but hesitated. Hotch knows he’s thinking of those disgusting things, and whispers like his mother said.

“It might be nicer... warmer in the office,” Spencer mumbled and then hurried into the office. Hotch can’t help an amused smirk curling the edges of his smile. Adorable, really, adorable. He rolled up his sleeves as he followed Spencer. “Eating in an office... too officious, even for me. I have the parlour behind this... if you'd like.”

Hotch nodded and smiled as he saw Spencer eyeing his forearms. Really, it can’t hurt to flex them a little. Hayley always liked that. Spencer walked on, behind the counter and into the darkened parlour. Hotch followed. Well, this was certainly interesting.

The room was dark but Spencer placed the tray on a table and turned on a lamp. Hotch stared around the room. Disturbing. Very disturbing. Maybe unsub in the making was too kind. Still, Spencer is so delightfully harmless looking and he still has two guns strapped on. The room is covered in posters of magic shows. A ventriloquist’s dummy sits eerily in the corner and what Hotch took to be a table actually seems to be one of those boxes for sawing people in half. He can’t help but check it for bloodstains. Disturbing but not necessarily a sign of a psychopath.

“Please sit down. On the sofa,” Spencer gestured with a half-smile and then crossed his arms over his stomach. Hotch edged onto the sofa, which creaked under his weight. Well, so much for ravishing Spencer Reid on this sofa, that noise would drive him crazy. Not that he was really thinking about doing that. He’s just tired. That’s all. And the boy probably has more issues than National Geographic. Spencer folded himself into the chair opposite and gestured for Hotch to start eating.

“You're very... kind,” Hotch muttered.

“It's all for you. I'm not hungry. Please go ahead.”

Hotch begins to eat, but finds his appetite has quite fled. The way Spencer watches him is slightly intimidating but mostly very flattering. He’s slightly startled when Spencer laughs nervously.

“Would you like to see a magic trick?” Hotch isn’t quite sure what to reply to that. “It’s physics magic. You’ll like it.” The young man fled into the office and Hotch heard drawers opening before he returned into the room with, what looked like, an old film canister. He busied himself with something on the side table and Hotch took a sip of his milk, wishing it was at least spiked with something. He could use a Scotch, or two. “Ok, wait for it.” Reid sat back and Hotch watched with a slightly raised eyebrow until the small canister suddenly popped and flew across the room. Spencer smiled delightedly.

“You get some good distance on those,” Hotch commented absently. Spencer grinned again but then he floundered slightly as Hotch gazed at him in what was probably a horribly lecherous way. He’s tired. He needs to go to sleep and leave early in the morning but he found himself drawing Reid into more conversation. “So you like magic?” Reid nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a strange hobby.”

“Uncommon, too,” Reid mumbled.

“I imagine so but then a man should have a hobby.” Hotch thought back to his own abandoned coin collection. This job just took everything.

“It's more than a hobby... sometimes... a hobby is supposed to pass the time, not fill it.” Reid looked so small as he flipped a coin over his knuckles.

“Is your time so empty?” Hotch couldn’t believe he’d said that. He rubbed a hand over his face and lay back on the sofa.

“Oh, no!” Reid replied with insincere enthusiasm. “I run the office, tend the cabins and grounds, do little chores for mother... the ones she allows I might be capable of doing.”

“Spencer, do you have any... friends?” Why the fuck was he still talking to this fascinating young man?

“Friends? Who needs friends?” Spencer smiled at Hotch and his blood ran cold. “A boy's best friend is his mother.” Hotch shivered. It was all a little too Ed Gein for his taste but Spencer was already talking again. “You've never had an empty moment in your whole life. Have you?”

Hotch shrugged, “Only my share.”

“What’s it like being an FBI agent?” Hotch flinched and levelled a hard glare at the young man. “It’s just... I saw your badge when you signed the register and you have that...gun.”

Hotch nodded. “It’s tiring. Sometimes, I just want to leave it all behind but it’s my life and I’m stuck with it.”

A long silence stretched between the two men but Hotch was surprised with the comfort he felt. When Spencer spoke again, his voice was low and Hotch had to strain to hear him. “You know what I think? I think we're all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever climb out. We scratch and claw... but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch.”

“Sometimes we deliberately step into those traps.” Hotch thought of Jack and Hayley. He thought of Foyet.

“I was born in mine. I don't mind it anymore.” There was no resentment in the young man’s voice but it also wasn’t quite resignation.

“You should... mind it.”

“Oh I do... but I say I don't.” Spencer tried to laugh but it sounded hollow and echoed even in the small room.

“If anyone ever spoke to me, the way I heard... The way she spoke to you, I don't think I could stand it.” At least his father had never belittled him. Just beaten him silently until the sweat poured down his face.

“Sometimes when she talks that way to me I'd like to... curse her out and leave her forever! Or at least, defy her. But I couldn't. She's ill.”

“She sounded strong...” Hotch mumbled without really thinking. He was lost in the memory of his father raising his belt again.

“I mean... ill.” Spencer cleared his throat. “She had to raise me all by herself after my dad left... I was only ten... and it must have been a strain. She couldn’t go out to work or anything but I looked after her. We only had each other... and this motel. Oh, it's nothing to talk about when you're eating.” Spencer smiled at Hotch who wanted to reach out and run his hand down that sculpted cheek, see if those chestnut locks really were as silky as they looked.

“Why don't you go away?” He mumbled. Why don’t you come with me? He thought to himself and realised that he was getting silly tired now. Probably that damn warm milk.

“It's too late for me. And besides...who'd look after her? She'd be alone up there, the fire would go out... damp and cold, like a grave. When you love someone, you don't do that to them, even if you hate them. Oh, I don't hate her. I hate... what she's become. I hate... the illness.”

Hotch looked at the young man thoughtfully, “Wouldn't it be better if you put her in... someplace...” He stopped as Spencer turned to him with an unbelievably cold look in his eyes.

“An Institution? A madhouse? People always call a madhouse ‘someplace.’”

“I'm sorry,” Hotch mumbled. “I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds. It’s late...”

Spencer interrupted him harshly. “Have you ever seen one of those places? Inside? Laughing and tears and cruel eyes studying you... and my mother there? Why? Has she harmed you? She's as harmless as... a bird.”

“I am sorry.” Hotch felt all his profiler instincts on edge and suddenly the small room seemed very confining. He needed Spencer to calm down now but he raged on.

“You meant well? People always mean well, they cluck their thick tongues and shake their heads and suggest so very delicately that...” Suddenly, the fury died and Spencer slumped in his chair. “I've suggested it myself. But I hate to even think such a thing. She needs me... and it isn't... it isn't as if she were a maniac, a raving thing... it's just that... sometimes she goes a little mad. We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you?”

Hotch thought of his bloodstained fists and the bloody pulp that used to be Foyet’s face. “Yes, and just one time can be enough. Thank you, Mr. Reid.”

Spencer smiled shyly and stood up with Hotch, “Thank you, Spencer.”

“Spencer,” Hotch breathed softly, suddenly aware of how close they were standing.

“You're not going to... to your room already?” Spencer whispered and seemed to lean towards Hotch slightly.

Jesus, he was right there in front of him. He could reach out and take him if he wanted. And god, he wanted. But there was something very off about Spencer Reid and Hotch’s judgement wasn’t that impaired. “I'm very tired and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Why don't you stay a little while, just for talking,” Spencer whispered and definitely took a step towards the older man.

“I'd like to, but...”

“Alright. I'll see you in the morning. I'll bring you breakfast. What time will you...” Still, he didn’t move away.

“Very early. Dawn.” Hotch took a small step towards Spencer and he could hear the tiny gasp of breath. This was a bad idea. A truly terrible idea. His worst idea ever.

“Alright, Agent Hotchner.” Hotch felt the breath ghost across his face.

“Aaron,” cursing himself, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to those soft, full ones he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off all evening. Softer, than they look, he thought to himself, and slipped his arm around the slender waist as Spencer’s hands clutched at his shoulders. He pulled the young man towards him and relished the frantic gasp that spilled from Spencer’s parted lips. Using that to his advantage, Hotch pressed his tongue into Spencer’s mouth and softly danced with the young man’s reluctant tongue. He should stop. He knew he should stop but it had been so long and there was something about this shy young man that just brought out his dark side. Still, he pulled back enough to see Spencer’s face as he slid a thigh between those thin legs and clutched at his skinny ass. “Do you want me to stop?” he practically growled as he forced Spencer to grind his erection into his thigh.

“I... I... No... Please...” Spencer gasped and leaned his head back exposing his long neck to Hotch’s teeth. Hotch pushed them back into a wall and proceeded to bite and mark Spencer’s delicious neck while they undulated rhythmically together.

“What do you want, Spencer?” He ground out and thrust against those bony hips.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this...” Hotch almost backed off in shock. Jesus, the kid had to be at least twenty five and he’d never had sex. He really should stop. Now. He shook his head and tried to step back but Spencer had wrapped a leg around his hips and was clinging to his shoulders.

“Spencer, we should stop. I’m sorry.”

“No, please. Do you want me to touch you?” The young man looked so nervous as he reached a hand down to Aaron’s straining cock. Fingers lightly brushed over the taut material and Hotch bit back a groan. “I don’t know what to do,” Spencer blushed, “but I want this. Please.”

Aaron felt his body give in as those large, puppy eyes turned on him. “Shh, I’ll look after you,” he mumbled and kissed Spencer softly. He reached his own hand down between them and unzipped Spencer’s corduroy trousers. Underneath, he wore a pair of white underpants that Hotch pushed aside to release his long, slim cock. He rubbed his thumb gently over the length, spreading the pre-cum and Reid threw his head back in ecstasy. Hotch watched as the young man jerked almost uncontrollably as Hotch continued to work his dick. God, he truly was beautiful. He saw a deep red flush creeping up from the open neck of his shirt and spreading up his cheeks as Spencer made a high, keening noise and scrunched his eyes up. Finally, he came with a desperate shout all over Hotch’s hand. Hotch kept his arm around the young man’s waist, holding him up until he saw that Spencer was able to support his own weight then he zipped up his trousers and tucked him back in. His own erection throbbed in protest as he stepped back but he’d already done too much.

“Good night, Spencer,” he murmured and pressed a small kiss to the young man’s sweaty temple before retreating to his own room.

He checked the phone once more to no avail before realising that his erection wasn’t going to go away on its own. Slowly, he stripped off his suit and stepped into the shower. It was old fashioned with a white shower curtain hanging from a rail but the water was warm. He soaped up his hand and reached down between his legs, grasping his erection with one hand and his swollen balls with the other. There was no being gentle about this. Spencer had got him really revved up and he needed release now. He didn’t notice the shower door slowly opening and then being carefully closed. A shadow of a woman fell across the shower curtain but Hotch was lost in his own groaning and the water pounding against his back. Suddenly, a hand reached up and grasped the curtain, ripping it to the side. Hotch turned but all he could see was the knife and all he could think was Oh, God, not again. Why a knife? He felt the blade slice through his skin and he knew he should fight back. The woman in front of him was slight but there was something about her eyes that paralysed him. Hazel eyes that looked so familiar. Beautiful eyes that a man could get lost in. The blade sliced into him again and again until he slumped in the tub, his blood mixing with the water and sluggishly washing down the drain. He heard the shower curtain slide back into place but it all seemed so far away. The door closed and he made a small gurgle of protest that barely passed his lips.

The water continued to pound on Aaron Hotchner’s body, cleaning up the mess. Suddenly, the bathroom door slammed open. “Mother! Oh God, what... blood, blood... mother...!” Spencer cried into the night.


End file.
